Sunday Service
by alexgmich
Summary: PWP. Something I thought up while, well, in church. Might offend some hardcore Christians, just putting it out there.


Ah, Sunday service; Spy never really was a fan.

To keep some sanity in the dry heat of the desert sun, Team Fortress Corp. decided to construct a shabby little chapel just on the outskirts of the battlefield. A little contradictory, no?

Inside, there were rows of benches on either side of a wide expanse of disheveled carpet leading to the alter. One side was for Blu and the other, Red.

The teams weren't required to go, but it was basically "go or rot in the sweltering conditions of the dusty hellhole they called 'home.'" So yeah, everyone went, whether they had a religion or not.

And here was the Blu Spy, seated in a hard wooden pew in his usual attire, barely paying attention to the droning monotone of a pastor preaching to this bunch of misfits, including himself, about a God he didn't believe in.

A select few actually had nicer clothes tucked in the depths of their small closet just for this day; Blu more than red- after all, they definitely had more class.

Blu Engineer traded in his worn out overalls and grease stained polo for his Sunday best—a tacky pinstriped suit with a tucked in button-down, with loafers that looked as if they were dipped in mud and half-heartedly scrubbed with a porcupine to boot. But this was the real shocker: The same team's Scout, usually hot-headed and swaggering around the base with obnoxious pride, sat in his seat almost stoically, eyes glued to the robed man speaking before them. It had to be the "Mama's Boy" in him. Thinking of the ignorant little spitfire being dressed by his mother every Sunday morning, slicking his hair back made Spy sneer.

He looked at the other team, those barbarians they called enemies as he plucked a cigarette from its case and lit it with a click of his lighter. Hell, if he was going to be stuck in this stuffy shack, might as well.

Scout glared over his shoulder at Spy, getting a long exhale of smoke in return.

Oh yes, back to the other team. Soldier seemed to be having a heated discussion with his shovel; Engineer tinkering with his inventions; Scout chewing his nails from boredom; Demoman passed out with an empty bottle; no one could ever tell what Pyro was doing; his counterpart mirroring the action of inhaling the stick of nicotine; Heavy and Medic whispering to each other flirtatiously and the Sniper was… Staring.

The Frenchman knew exactly why.

Sunglass-covered eyes bore into the masked man intently and seductively, mentally ripping his clothes off. Their little relationship had been going on for a while, but never had Spy seen the lustful gaze he was receiving now.

It couldn't turn him on more.

Motioning with his cigarette towards the door and fixing his pants, the masked man slinked out of the main room into the hallway, Sniper catching the hint. Lips crashed with another pair fervently, tongues sliding against each other, hands grabbing at anything they could, hips grinding together.

"Balcony," Sniper exclaimed, breathless.

With a tight squeeze to his ass, Spy ripped the door open to the stairway and climbed the stairs, the Aussie at his heels. Along with the pews on the main floor, the upper level also had several extra in storage.

A big hand grabbed at a blue tie and half-dragged its person over to one of the vacant seats, Spy straddling the Sniper. Kisses and bites outlining his neck and jawline, Spy managed to get out, "izn't zis a little inappropriate, mon cher?"

The bushman licked up the side of his lover's face to growl in his ear, "when 'as that eva stopped us?"

"Touche."

Spy dove down onto Sniper's lips, snaking his hands under his partner's button down. Buttons flew open from each man's shirt, Spy quickly shrugging off his suit jacket, folding it with fumbling fingers and placing it next to them. Contact was only broken for the several frantic minutes that zippers were being tugged down and pants flew off.

The organ playing began, signaling the start of a hymn. God, he hated those things.

Spy assumed his position on his naked lover (save his hat and sunglasses, of course), the only thing left on him an open dress shirt, mask and loosened tie. Sniper tugged at it as the other began attacking his neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive flesh.

"S-shit, mate." One hand on Spy's ass, the other explored the body above him, stopping at a nipple to rub it with his thumb. Oh, he loved the sound that came from the spook's mouth. A hand found its way to Spy's hardened prick, already wet from pre-cum and gave it a squeeze, slicking his fingers with the substance. Spy's breath hitched against Sniper's ear, and a small mewl escaped as Sniper pushed two fingers into his ass. Working his hand up and down, Spy started meeting the rhythm. Grabbing Spy's slim hips, the Aussie aimed his tip at the man's entrance and lowered him down. Sniper groaned as the tight heat surrounded his member, adoring the pleasurable sounds coming from the man above him. As soon as Sniper's hips met with Spy's bottom, the spook lifted up and slammed right back down.

"Jeesus Chroist," Sniper grunted.

"…His only son our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Ghost…"

Sniper's grip on the hips tightened, lifting his partner and meeting with his ass, Spy tipping his head back, releasing a wanton moan. Well, the pace quickened from there on. Hot breath, sweat, longing, lust, and desire echoed through the storage room as the bread was being passed around for communion. Spy had no intention of going back down to the service, especially after a particularly sharp thrust made contact with his prostate, causing him to arch his back and call out the other man's title. Sniper's hips met with Spy's motions as he rode him, hitting that sweet spot every time.

"Mon dieu! Harder, Sniper!" His request was accepted, Sniper pounding into his lover, making the broken bench moan, but not nearly as loud as the pair. The Aussie's hat long gone, Spy combed his long fingers through the dark greasy hair, pulling when Sniper's cock was in to the hilt.

Spy's other hand made its way to his own painfully hard cock, jerking it frantically in time with their fast pace.

Sniper's movements became more erratic as he neared the edge, burying himself in Spy's tight warmth, spilling inside of him. A desperate jerk of his hand along the feeling of Sniper's orgasm had the Frenchman cry out as he came on both of their chests, panting as he rested a drenched forehead on his partner's broad shoulder.

Completely spent, Spy could barely say an "A-men."


End file.
